


The Lining of Your Skin

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [27]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Tony, Bottom Tony Stark, Dom Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Erotic Flogging, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, Hand Jobs, Impact Play, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Pain Kink, Praise Kink, Sub Tony, Sub Tony Stark, Subspace, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers, Topspace, light pain kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “No, I,” Tony said quickly, his voice a little shaky and quick, “I want to.  I want to, honey.”  He pushed his hands down, got his head up, looked up at Steve.  “I want to,” he said again, and there was a pleading tone in his voice, shaking a little, not quite like he was begging, but close, like he was scared Steve might back out, but, probably, didn’t want to be too obvious about how much he was wanting it.Written for Day Twenty-Eight of Kinktober: Impact Play.





	The Lining of Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> None of the prompts for this day spoke to me, so I switched this one in from Day Twenty-One, this time with Tony bottoming (in contrast to the impact play fic I did for masochism, with Steve bottoming). This ended up sort of being a fic about Steve as a top, actually.
> 
> “As if you were on fire from within.  
> The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”  
> ― Pablo Neruda

Tony was shifting over the bed again, pushing his chest down into the firm but fluffy pillow that lay under his torso and up under his head, twisting his bound hands in their soft leather cuffs above him, pushing them down against the covers, the mattress, breath coming soft and fast and low in his chest. Steve set down the flogger he’d been considering, stepped forward, around the end of the bed, to lay a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeeze, stroked down over his back, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin, the goosepimples that were sweeping down along his shoulders and back, over his spine. He stroked his back again, felt the cold sweat starting to gather at the dip of his spine, scratched his nails lightly, gently, teasingly, over Tony’s shoulders, down along his back, and felt Tony shiver under him, blow his breath out softly, saw his muscles starting to relax in his shoulders, so that was good. “You doin’ all right, fella?” Steve asked. “We don’t have to, you know. If you don’t want.”

“No, I,” Tony said quickly, his voice a little shaky and quick, “I want to. I want to, honey.” He pushed his hands down, got his head up, looked up at Steve. “I want to,” he said again, and there was a pleading tone in his voice, shaking a little, not quite like he was begging, but close, like he was scared Steve might back out, but, probably, didn’t want to be too obvious about how much he was wanting it.

“Okay,” Steve told him. He squeezed his hand on the back of Tony’s neck, knowing that it would soothe him, rubbed there gently, then pushed his head back down, to the pillow. He could feel Tony start to relax as he did it, in his shoulders, the tremors as his muscles started to unwind. “I hear you, mister.” He held his hand there, firm, until he saw Tony relax all over, his muscles uncoiling, saw him go limp over the pillow under his chest, his head sag down into it, heard as well as saw his breathing even out, then moved his hand up, stroked it through Tony’s hair, keeping it soft, gentle. Just how Tony liked it. Tony loved to have his hair stroked, petted, just like this, Steve knew that, and he tried to give it to him as much as he could, loved watching the way Tony’s eyes fluttered closed and he’d tilt his head, lean into it, soft little breaths of pleasure escaping his lips. “Are you still okay with a long scene?” Steve asked, reaching up and stroking his other hand over Tony’s wrist, slipping two fingers under the cuff, against his pulse, to check the fit of his cuff and reassure himself with the steady beat of Tony’s heart at the same time.

Tony shivered, all the way down his body, over his shoulders, this time. “Yes,” he husked out, low and rough. His fingers curled in against his palms, and Steve reached up, slipped his hand under the fingers of one hand, squeezed. 

“You just let me know,” he said, and stroked his hand down over the back of Tony’s hand, his forearm, stroking at the hair that prickled over the skin, down to rub at the sensitive skin at the inside of Tony’s elbow with his thumb, watched Tony shiver, because he liked that, liked strokes to his sensitive inner elbows, the inside of his knees. Steve loved touching him there, seeing him breathe out, twitch his hips lightly, squirm, the light trembling shudder that would go through every inch of him.

He skimmed both hands down, ran them over the back of Tony’s neck, down over his shoulders again, laid the heel of his hand against his skin and massaged at the small of Tony’s back, the base of his spine. Tony sighed, went limp under it, sagging against the pillow.

“You feeling good right now?” Steve asked, and Tony nodded.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“You feeling ready?” Steve asked, and Tony tensed a little more, but then he relaxed again as Steve kept rubbing at the small of his back in slow, deep, easy circles.

“Yeah,” Tony said, still husky and low and thick.

“Okay,” Steve said. “You still okay with going up to the strap, still? If you’re not, just let me know.” He stroked one hand down over the beautiful, luscious curve of Tony’s rump, rubbed gently at the warm skin. “I’m fine with just taking it slow and soft, if that’s what you want. I’d like that, too.” And he would. He loved slow, soft, gentle impact scenes with Tony, slowly working him up with nothing but pleasure, sensation, pressure, no sting at all, using only their softer floggers so the whole thing was more sensation than anything else, until Tony was a warm, blissed-out puddle the way he only really seemed to get after a long, gentle impact scene, and Steve would just sit there and touch him after, running his hands all over him, luxuriating in the relaxed slump of Tony’s muscles, the glowing warmth of his skin, so sensitized wherever Steve had worked him that Tony shivered and blew out his breath at every touch.

“No, I—” Tony blew his breath out, trembled under Steve’s hands. “I want that. The, the, the strap. Please. I. I do want it. Honey.”

“I hear you,” Steve said. “I’ve gotcha.” He reached up, rubbed a hand over Tony’s shoulders. “I’ll give it to you. At my pace, you hear me?”

He couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that admission, that request, sent through him, either. As much as he liked it slow and soft, there was something about Tony taking some of their harder implements that just—it was incredible to watch, him writhing and gasping and gripping at the blankets and sheets with both fists, mouth open on a whimpering, groaning moan as he struggled to stay still, even to push his rear out for it, to be good, as rosy, stinging welts formed dark against his olive skin. Just to see Tony so _gone_ on it, reduced to nothing but sensation and feeling, caught between pleasure and pain, so overcome there were tears in his eyes, yet he’d press himself back for more, rocking into the swats to his rump and legs and whimpering, it was—it was a heady feeling, went straight to Steve’s dick, but deeper than that, too, like it settled under his skin, went down to his bones, that _he_ had made Tony feel that way, that Tony _wanted him to_.

But he wanted to work Tony up into that slow, give him pleasure on top of pleasure, sensation on top of sensation, first. Get him ready for it. He wanted to make Tony feel really, really good tonight. He always did, of course, always, but if he was going to be driving the bus in particular, it was his responsibility, and Steve wanted it to be extra, especially good. Tony trusted him to do this. He wasn’t going to let him down.

But Steve also knew that waiting too long would just give Tony time to get more and more anxious, worked up, waiting for the first swat, the first blow, so after Tony muttered, “I hear you,” his shoulders hunching up, Steve just rubbed one hand over his shoulders again, massaging into them, pressing them down toward the bed, and moved back to stand near where Tony’s buttocks rested at the center of the bed, reached out and laid one hand on the lush curve. Tony gasped, drew in a long, shaking breath, but he didn’t exactly flinch, so Steve just rubbed gently at the curve, the firm, tight muscle there, for a moment.

“Are you ready for me to get started?” he asked. His own dick was already aching, rubbing against his briefs. He could feel the wet spot where the head was leaking precome already. This always turned him on, even as it made him worry, take deep breaths to try to prepare himself, ready himself, be the best he could be for Tony, all that the same time.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I said that already, honeybunch, I said—”

He cut off on a gasp as Steve brought his hand down, hard, on the curve of his rear, then groaned, arched his back, pushed his rear back up into his hand, until Steve squeezed him gently, rubbed against the red mark he’d left, hearing Tony’s breath go uneven in his throat, then swatted him again, hard, so hard it rocked Tony’s body forward into the bed, and he heard him give a low oof of a sigh, long and rough.

Steve hadn’t expected Tony to like spanking when they’d first started this between them. He’d observed, their first couple of times, that Tony was always gentle in bed, gentle and careful, so careful and attentive and mind-blowingly adept in bringing Steve nothing but incredible pleasure with what seemed like everything he did. He seemed like all charisma and seduction at first, impossibly good at everything he did for and with Steve, but Steve had slowly begun to see under that, even that first night, and realize that Tony was an incredibly sweet lover, caring, attentive, truly invested in Steve’s, in his partner’s, pleasure, in every way, his gaze rapt and anxious on Steve’s face as he looked so carefully to see if Steve enjoyed every little thing Tony did with him. He’d been so gentle and sweetly generous and open, all warm hands, sweet, willing mouth, loving caresses, that Steve had sort of assumed he wouldn’t be into anything harder, but of course, he’d been wrong about that. Even so, when they started to play around on the kinkier side of things, he figured Tony wouldn’t like spanking. It kind of hit on a lot of things Tony had issues with, or that Steve sort of suspected he did, and he thought maybe Tony would find it degrading, and not in a fun way, either.

But he’d been wrong about that. Sure, Tony didn’t like it if you played up the corporal punishment side of the thing, and he didn’t have schoolboy fantasies; it was one of the few things about his own likes and dislikes he’d volunteered quickly, easily, relaxed and smiling. Or volunteered at all, really, but that was a different story. But Tony had just said, laughing, “I guess if you go to a boarding school, you either end up with a rock-hard naughty schoolboy punishment fantasy, or you get the exact opposite, and, well, I was the opposite. Doesn’t do it for me, at all, really.”

And since Steve hadn’t ever been into that sort of thing either, he’d just grinned and said, “Guess that’s one we don’t need to check off our list, huh?” and volunteered a sort of embarrassing story about being punished during his own school days (for refusing to recite an essay he found insulting and just flat wrong-headed in front of the class) as an illustration of how little he wanted to relive them, and they’d just moved on. But when they’d moved into impact play, Steve had realized that if you left the roleplay off, Tony kind of loved spanking, the hard smack of Steve’s hand against his rear, the warm glow of it, the pain, even liked him to go what Steve thought was pretty hard, moaned and rocked his bottom back into it and begged for more even when Steve knew it hurt and he was panting, head hanging down and his body flinching and flushed even as he pushed his rear back and begged with his whole body to be smacked. Tony was no masochist; Steve knew that, not like he was himself, but there was something he liked about it, liked a lot.

And Steve kind of liked it, too—well, more than kind of, the sharp crack of his hand hitting against Tony’s bare skin that quickly translated into warmth, the rhythm of it, the way Tony’s rump got so warm so quick beneath his hand, watching Tony’s reactions as he writhed and panted and moaned under him. He liked actually touching Tony, and he felt like Tony liked to actually feel his bare hand, just as much as Steve liked to touch him. So he liked to start with this, with barehanded spanking, to get Tony warmed up.

Tony moaned, now, and twisted against the bed, rubbing his hips inward, rocking his chest down against the pillow, trembling, his shoulders pulling tight, then relaxing again, as he buried his face in it, panting. Steve dragged his hand slowly over Tony’s warm, hot buttock, already starting to show the mark of his hand, a slow, heavy caress, stroked his hand back and forth, until Tony’s breath was coming deep and unsteady in his throat, then hauled back his hand again and gave Tony a nice hard swat on the other cheek, made him gasp, buck up, one hand tightening in the covers as his breath hitched. He could feel the tight muscle as it smacked into his hand, the slight bounce of the round, sweet layer of flesh Tony carried on his rear, the way it fit just into his palm, pressed down with his thumb, digging in, dragging it down until Tony was shivering, groaning, then squeezed and smacked him again.

Steve gave him a few more hard swats on each side, just enough to get Tony’s skin warmed up, glowing, painful and probably stinging; he could tell more by Tony’s reactions than anything else. When it actually started to hurt, the muscles in his arms twisted tight when he gripped at the bed, and the tension would torque all the way down his back. But when it was just a little sting, his toes would be curling, and he’d rub his knee against the bed, jiggle his rear just a little, almost like he had an itch, and his breathing would be deep and juddery, not shallow and fast like it got when Tony was starting to hurt too much, and it was scaring him a little. That shallow, fast breathing always meant it was time for Steve to back off, take it slow, slow things down and slip a hand around Tony’s, squeeze his fingers and rub at his palm and the side of his hand with his thumb and kiss his neck, bite at his ear and rub at his back and try to distract him from the slow-down as he asked for his color. Otherwise, sometimes Tony would feel guilty, blame himself that Steve felt he had had to slow down at all, but if he distracted him, Tony would at least usually be honest.

But Tony wasn’t breathing like that now; he was breathing deep and juddery and slow in the way that meant he was deeply turned on, and he was rubbing his knee against the blankets, curling his toes, so Steve just rubbed at his rump a little more, then slid his hand up, caressed the small of his back as he admired the hot rosy shade he’d turned the skin of his rear already, and reached for the first flogger he’d picked out for Tony tonight.

This one was bunny fur, white and silky soft, and Steve never went that hard with it, partly so as not to damage the tails. He didn’t like to start hard with Tony at all—if Tony wasn’t good and warmed up, it really hurt for him. Even if Steve didn’t warm Tony up enough, he’d see Tony wincing with real discomfort (but not saying a word about it, of course), and that wasn’t what he wanted for him, not until he was deep, deep in it, and it was pleasure-pain, not just the kind of pain that sliced through you like ice, made Tony tighten up and his breath come tight and straining in his chest. Steve never wanted that for him at all, as much as he reveled in drawing the warm, hot, dizzying pleasure-pain and sensation of the other out of him.

So he started slow, with this—it was a thick mop, but still just about the lightest flogger they had, and he stroked it over the round, rosy cheeks of Tony’s rear before he swung back and hit it against his skin. He went easy, kept it light, knowing that even then, it would feel more intense against the skin of Tony’s buttocks, already stinging and warm from Steve’s heavy hand. He couldn’t help but revel in the way that Tony gasped, lifted his rear up into the strokes of the flogger, even as Steve let it slide down over his thighs, a silky tease over the sensitive skin, up and down the inside of first one thigh, then the other, before he teasingly flicked it up against Tony’s perineum, his balls, his cock, not hard enough to hurt or with really any force at all, and made him gasp and shiver, moaning and rocking on his knees, before Steve brought it back around in a gentle drag against Tony’s warm red rear, smacking lightly across it. Tony moaned, dragged his face against the pillow, hands curling into fists in the covers, and rocked back into it.

Whenever they did this, Steve watched Tony’s every response even more carefully than normal, watching for every twitch, every quiver, every indrawn gasp of breath, and he always felt himself getting caught up in it, in Tony’s reactions, feeling warm as Tony gasped and shuddered, at the burgeoning hardness he could see between the part of Tony’s legs as Tony writhed, hitched his knee up against the bed as he rubbed it down against the covers and spread himself wide enough to give a good view of his tight balls and filling cock. He just loved seeing Tony like this, responding to him, gone high on sensations, reacting, trembling, raw and honest and real and almost helpless under him, and they’d just barely started, loved watching him for each response, each tell, so that Tony’s body could tell him what to do, how to strike him, how to bring him pleasure. He felt himself getting hard, straining his briefs, against his soft slacks, and swallowed, knowing he’d be throbbing with want the entire time he was doing this; he always was. It added to it, for him, that heat and throbbing desire, pounding in his cock, in his head, his pulse beating through his entire body, it felt like, but he had to be careful to focus, anyway. Tony deserved his full attention, always.

He waited until Tony was breathing unsteadily, thighs trembling as he hitched his hips up and back almost anxiously, needily, his rear hot when Steve laid a hand down against it and rubbed there, gently, which made Tony give a breath that was nearly a sob, deep in his chest, shivering under his touch. Steve rubbed, lightly, feeling how hot Tony was, light little touches over the sensitive skin, knowing it had to be hot, shivering with sensitivity and the intensity of feeling the soft silky tails of the flogger had created with repeated pressure. Steve rubbed at his rear for a while, as Tony moaned, then went still, spreading his legs for Steve and shivering. Steve stroked gently down, over the hot skin, between his legs, rubbing at the soft, smooth spot between his hole and his balls, cupping them gently and tugging them back, rubbing his fingers against the velvety-soft, carefully waxed skin, so smooth and warm as carefully denuded of hair as Tony kept them, then cupped his palm against them and rubbed his first two fingers gently against the base of Tony’s cock.

Tony moaned, gasping, rocked his cock forward against the covers, whimpering deep in his chest, rubbing his cock against Steve’s fingers as Steve teased him. Goddamn, that was sexy, seeing Tony react like that, whine and whimper and press back against Steve’s fingers, against his hand. Steve teased him for a long while, feeling Tony’s half-erect cock hardening, thickening warm and heavy under his fingers, before he trailed his hand back between Tony’s legs, stroked first one thigh, then the other, gently caressing, until Tony was shivering, his legs spread willingly wide, and then he trailed the flogger over the sensitive skin again and brought it down first across one of Tony’s thighs, then the other.

Tony’s jump, the startled whimper, low in his throat, the way his toes curled into the covers and the way he ground down, rubbing his cock against the bed, all of it was sweet, gorgeous, wonderful to witness. Tony gave a sweet, needy little moan and relaxed as Steve settled into a rhythm of trailing the tails across his thighs, then giving him soft slow smacks up and down, up over the place where his thighs met his rear, then back down again. Only when his thighs were as warm and rosy as his rear did Steve stop, rubbing them gently with one hand as he leaned up, kissed each of Tony’s shoulders, ran his fingers up through his tousled, curling hair, tugging gently on the thick curls, and then started the same sort of rhythm with the soft, silky fur across his shoulders. Tony sighed, at that, jumped a little, but then settled into it, going a little deep rosy-red under his skin, along his neck and what Steve could see of his face, his ears, the tops of his shoulders and the small of his back, as he sighed out. If Tony was blushing, that probably meant he was enjoying the sensation of the soft fur over his shoulders.

Tony was moaning softly but regularly by the time that Steve stopped, laid the flogger down, and reached up to run his hand gently over the now very warm skin of his shoulders, make Tony gasp and squirm under him, just a little. “How was that, fella?” Steve asked.

“Good, good, ‘s so good, honey,” Tony mumbled, quick and breathless. “Felt really, really nice."

It did, Steve knew. The bunny fur was as soft as silk, and it really just warmed up skin, didn’t hurt at all. “You feeling ready for more?” he asked. He slid his fingers up over the nape of Tony’s neck, curled one of them in a soft tendril at the nape of Tony’s neck, unable to resist, feeling the slight dampness of sweat that was starting to gather there. 

“Yeah, ‘m good,” Tony said. The words were slurring a little.

“I’m going to go a little bit harder,” Steve said. “That okay?”

“You’ve barely started,” Tony mumbled softly, and Steve thought he might have been smiling. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and gave Tony one last, long caress over his warm shoulders, down over his back, before he set the flogger aside and reached for another one.

This one was another fur flogger, this one made out of Spanish lamb wool fur. It was softer, woolier, felt like velvet to the touch, plush and a little harder, a little heavier, the leather buffed velvety smooth on the other side. Still, it was more sensation than anything, with no pain, just a soft poofy thump that would tingle and slide over Tony’s skin, go a little deeper into the muscle.

Steve really liked to take it slow.

He started with Tony’s shoulders this time, dragging the tails softly down over his back between each strike, with no force, let them tickle over the small of his back, before he’d bring it back to the other shoulder in a light thud. Tony shivered, flinching lightly once, twice, then sighed, seemed to relax under it, all the tension going out of him. Steve reached out, brushed his other shoulder just to check, feeling the looseness, buttery and soft, of the muscles under his fingers, then smiled to himself as Tony just sighed, shifted on one side slightly and pushed back into the touch, and then pulled his hand back, brought the soft flogger down again. He went a little harder with it, now—he could go harder with the lamb fur anyway without damaging it, and now that Tony had relaxed, he could take some solid thump with the velvety softness over his skin. Tony went loose under it, sinking into the pillow, hitching his knee up again, his legs spread wide. Steve shifted so he could wrap a hand around his ankle, stroking the skin gently as he worked on his shoulders. The flogger was easily light enough to use without worrying much about his balance or his other hand, and he liked the control of holding Tony’s ankle loosely in his own hand, the way he could feel his pulse thudding in the thin skin under the bone if he rested his thumb there. Tony just sighed and went even more loose and relaxed under his hold.

Tony was clearly feeling good with this one, soft and loose and lost in it, so Steve kept it up for a while, sliding the tails down Tony’s back again, then back up over his rump, then starting in there, too, bringing more of that deep, rosy flush up the surface, down over his thighs, then back up. There was no rush, and if Tony was feeling good, Steve wanted to prolong that as long as possible. A lot of people would have been constrained by their arm getting tired, but that was something the serum had done for him, at least. He wouldn’t be having that problem. And it was easy for him to calculate the power behind his blows, pull them just enough that he could keep going at this soft, even pace without making Tony’s skin start to really burn just from force or friction. Tony started to twist his hips, panting, rub himself forward against the blankets, after a while, and Steve smiled, let the soft tails slither softly, intimately, between Tony’s legs for a moment, with no force behind it, just to make him shudder and gasp, grip tightly at the blankets above his head, buck his hips up and down, his rump back, before he twirled the tails up again and hit them solidly against the center of Tony’s rear cheek, made him gasp and moan out low and deep again.

Eventually, though, after a long time, when Tony’s skin was really, really warm and starting to look adorably red, Steve put down that one, too, leaned forward and put both hands on Tony’s luscious rear cheeks and squeezed. Tony yelped, jumped, shivering, gave a tiny little choking moan as Steve rubbed his thumbs along the inside of his crease. “Awful warm here,” Steve said, gently teasing, and Tony moaned again, gasping, squirming under him.

“Yeah, well,” he gasped out.

“Still feelin’ good for more?” Steve asked, stroking gently now, along both sides, down over his hips, back over Tony’s hot skin over his bottom, his thighs, rubbing his thumbs up and down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, too, and smiling as that made Tony shiver and gasp, shuddering under him, slid his fingers up and played them softly over the underside of the curves of Tony’s bottom, stroking up and in and over the soft sensitive skin in between to press in toward his body gently, before he pulled them back, wandered them down his thighs again. Tony was shivering, gasping, moaning at almost every touch. “I promise, I’ll still go easy.”

“For now, maybe,” Tony said, but he lifted his head, looked back at Steve, and he was pink in the face and glazed looking and grinning, the soft bright happy look on his face one that made Steve’s heart squeeze tight and thump in his chest, that he would have given anything to see there on Tony’s face more often.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and slapped his round, red rump lightly, but loud enough to make a sound, hard enough that Tony jolted and then gave a groaning, breathy laugh. “For now, buster.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Tony said then, after a moment, still low and soft, breathy. “’m good for more. Go to town, sugarpie.”

“If you’re sure,” Steve said, firmly, but he was already reaching for the next flogger he’d laid out. He’d planned this in advance, how he wanted to progress, and so far it seemed to be working on Tony exactly how he’d wanted it, so that was a good sign. Maybe he was getting better at knowing exactly how much his guy could take, and how.

“I’m sure,” Tony said softly.

“All right,” Steve said, with a will, measuring out this flogger against his hand.

This one was his absolute favorite to use on Tony out of all the ones they owned—one of the few things he’d ever bought for Tony in the first place, he’d bought it for him for their third anniversary together. He’d read somewhere that the third wedding anniversary was leather, and, well, they weren’t married, but it still seemed to fit. It was the first time Steve had even remembered their anniversary before the day itself, and he’d wanted to make up for the last two times. But Tony had just about everything he wanted already, Steve figured, so what could he give Tony except himself? But they’d just started playing with Tony on the bottom for impact play, just like this, and after the first time they’d done it that way, Steve would never forget it, Tony’s face, spacey, glowing, his soft, open, crooked smile, the way he licked his bottom lip and bit at it and smiled up at Steve and said, all breathlessly rushing words, that he’d never, ever enjoyed it before like he had enjoyed that, that how had Steve even done that, how had he made it feel so good, and Steve, overcome, had just slid a hand around the back of Tony’s neck and kissed him, deep and soft and long, as feeling as he could. So Steve had thought, _something so that I can give him that again_ , and it had taken him a long time to work up the courage to give Tony a kind of a sex toy for their anniversary, but he’d done it.

And Tony had loved it. He’d laughed, but he’d touched his tongue to his bottom lip, bitten it, the way he did when he was actually feeling something real, his eyes had been bright, and his face had softened, in a way that told Steve he was genuinely touched, especially once he’d realized that Steve had meant it for Steve to use on, for, him, in particular. It had been specially made for them, with white doeskin tails (the finest leather Steve had ever touched in his life; he’d made certain of it, thin enough to be gentle on Tony’s skin, light, soft as a lady’s fine glove, and almost squishy to the touch) and gold fittings, a patinaed metal handle, every inch of it crafted just to look _pretty_. Steve had been really pleased—thrilled by Tony’s reaction, but pleased with the flogger itself, too, the way it threw, the way it fell on Tony’s skin, not too heavy, soft and perfect for the way Tony liked it done to him, exactly what he’d wanted.

As soon as he threw it forward against Tony’s shoulders, he knew Tony recognized the soft fall of the white leather against his skin, because he smiled to himself, closed his eyes, and relaxed into it. Steve smiled at that, too, a little touched at the response, skimmed his hand up Tony’s leg to rest it behind his knee, as he let the falls spread out over Tony’s skin, dragged it down, then brought it up, threw it again.

The doeskin was soft, supple and smooth, and Steve could see Tony shiver with each smooth, creamy slide of the falls down over his back from the warm mark it had left on his skin. Steve let it linger, slipping down softly over his skin, dragging smooth and soft and just a little heavy over his back, each time, before he brought his arm back and swung the tails back down again. Tony was really getting into it now, Steve could tell, the way he gasped and moaned with each soft tease of the flogger down his back, could see his hard length between his legs whenever he shifted, thick and ruddy and fully hard now, leaving sticky little trails of precome on the covers when he shifted, rolling his hips every so often, breathless little pants escaping his lips without him even seeming to realize it. That was exactly how, where, Steve wanted him (and he could feel his own cock, hard and throbbing and hot between his legs, give a needy throb every time Tony made one of those soft little sounds or bobbed his hips, all lithe, rolling enticement, but it wasn’t time for that yet), and it made him feel good, not just turned on, but good, tender and soft and tight and warm in his chest, to watch him like that.

Steve did his shoulders for a long while, watching them turn even redder under the soft white tails, letting them caress his skin in between, slip and slide over his shoulder blades, between them, down his spine before he brought them back up in a slow rhythm he kept purposefully uneven. He watched Tony’s hands tighten in the blankets, twist, his strong wrists working, the muscles locking up along them under the cuffs, before they’d relax again, go limp, and Tony would relax, face down in the pillows, panting, working his hips in little needy twitching rolls forward every so often. Eventually, Steve pulled his arm back, stepped in, ran his hand over the warm red skin of Tony’s shoulders. He shuddered, gasped, and Steve turned it over, ran the backs of his fingers along Tony’s skin.

“Feeling good?” he asked, and it came out hoarse, husky and low. 

“Mm-mm,” Tony stuttered, groaned. “Mmm. Yeah. Good. Feeling good, honey, honeybunch.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at that. He always felt warm and tender inside, whenever Tony called him one of those sweet little nicknames he liked so much. He ran his hand up to the back of Tony’s neck, squeezed gently, and felt him go entirely limp, soft and easy and pliant under his hand. “I’m good to go on?” he asked. “How’s that feeling?”

“Good,” Tony said, licked his lips, apparently all his eloquence, his coherence, gone. “’s good. ‘s nice. Smooth. Warm. I don’t know, Steve, honey, please.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “So long as you’re feeling good to keep at it.”

“Feel so good,” Tony moaned, head lolling against the pillow, bound hands lying limply above him, twining his fingers softly, as if unconsciously, into the blankets. “Please.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, feeling the endearment well up within him with the soft tug of warmth in his chest at that _please_. “I’ve gotcha.” He ran his hand down over Tony’s shoulders again, down over the slope of his back, very damp and sweaty now, and squeezed one still rosy pink curve of his rear, before he took a step back, teased the tails of the flogger up over Tony’s leg, then tossed them back again and started on Tony’s rear and thighs.

He’d always intended to go the longest with this one, so he used all the tricks he knew—speeding up the pace, slowing down, going lighter and lighter then back up to his usual weight, watching every one of Tony’s reactions as he did, as he moaned and shivered and bucked up back against it, as his mouth sagged open against the pillows, open and wet and he moaned and pressed his head down into it, tossing it back and forth. He was down in it, now, so the sounds he made were more open and unrestrained, soft little yelps and gasps and oofs of effort, groans, as Steve coaxed sensation after sensation out of him with the flogger.

Before he finished Steve moved back up to his shoulders again, painting them with the soft white leather, the creamy velvet of the tails, over the hot, sensitive skin, watching Tony as he trembled, keeping an eye on it. It was a long time before he thought Tony had had enough, and Tony was very, very hard by then, moaning as he rubbed his cock unthinkingly up against the pillow. Steve set the flogger aside, stepped in, having to adjust himself through his pants as he did and groaning out through his nose at the pressure on his needy, hot, wanting cock, before he stroked over Tony’s rear, his shoulders, again, and heard him make a startled noise, felt him jump under his hands.

“Shhh,” he said, rubbing at his hot, sensitive shoulder with one hand, feeling Tony flinch slightly again, then still, relax under the touch. “I’ve gotcha.” He reached down with the other hand, slid it up between Tony’s legs, against the blankets, feeling up under his cock, feeling how damp the covers felt beneath it, a wet spot just under the head where Tony had been rubbed. He curled his palm around the hot shaft—very hot, Tony was maybe a little raw from friction—and rubbed his fingers at the head, stroking Tony back and forth with the rub of his hand up and down in the covers, until Tony was panting, moaning, writhing, rubbing down against him desperately, then gasping, his hips hitching back up, pressing back down. Steve squeezed lightly at the head of Tony’s cock with his fingers, felt him shudder and heard him give a soft little startled, wet-sounding breath before Steve went back to teasing him more gently. “Feels like you’ve been enjoying this,” he said in a gentle sort of voice, smiling. “I right about that, Tony?”

Tony moaned. “Yeah,” he said, hitching, breathily. “I, um. I. Yeah, honey, yeah, I.” He wasn’t thinking straight, that was obvious; he was a hot flushing mess under Steve’s hand at the back of his neck, rolling his hips helplessly into Steve’s hand.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “I can tell, sweetheart.” He rolled Tony’s wet, sticky cockhead between his first two fingers, tugging at it gently, then getting his thumb up, rubbing it into the slit. “You’re all sticky and wet for me, aren’t you? Hard as a rock from how much you’re liking this. How much you like having me work you over.”

“Feels really,” Tony groaned, “really good, Steve.” He whined a little, pushed his hand forward into Steve’s palm, rubbing back and forth, desperately. “Really good.”

“Are you ready for something a little harder?” Steve asked. “Just for a while. Not so awful, I promise.”

“Y-yeah,” Tony breathed, hitching and whimpering in his throat as Steve teased at him. “C-course not. It’s always good with you.”

His voice had the entirely worshipful tone that he often got when he was really, really sweet and under, and that Steve always put down to how Tony’s space went. Still, something twinged in his chest again, tightened with feeling, because, well, damn, that was sweet, to think that Tony, even if it was because he was out of his head and trusting and too sweet with it not to, trusted him so much. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He gave Tony’s cock one last soft squeeze, rubbing teasingly at the head where he was most sensitive, and Tony gave a whimpering little soft punched out moan, all breathless and rough, and then tugged his hand away. He had to adjust himself again, couldn’t resist the temptation to rub at his own cock just a little before he pulled it away. Tony was just so beautiful in his pleasure, when Steve teased him, worked him up like that, and the best part was that Tony loved it, too, loved when Steve teased him, worked him up, made him want and left him wanting for a while.

Steve picked up the elk flogger, tossed it back to get a feel for the weight of the tails, then picked it up, let it fall heavily onto Tony’s shoulders and linger there, let him breathe in the scent, shudder under the heavier thud, watching him for how he reacted, the tremors in his muscles, the gasp that caught in his chest, but it seemed good, everything seemed good, not too hard, so Steve dragged it down, let Tony get used to the heavy, chocolate-pudding slide of it, the velvet richness of the leather, then threw it again. This had more thud, but it was still soft, caressed the skin, the leather soft and rich and squishy. Steve let Tony feel it, really feel it, luxuriate in it, then threw it just a little harder, enough to feel as well as hear his breath catching under him, then moved down to his rear, to let Tony feel that rich deep thud there, too, against his thighs.

Steve didn’t throw that one as long, worried about overtaxing Tony’s endurance, but he went long enough to see Tony’s skin go deeper red both over his shoulders and back, to hear Tony moaning under it, mouth open and panting, drooling into the pillow, see the way he started arching back into it, rolling his hips as if desperate for more, before he set it aside, ran a gentle hand down over Tony’s rear again, testing, seeing how Tony sucked in his breath and trembled under his touch, how raw his skin felt.

It would be okay, he thought. If Tony wanted it. He stroked the inside of his thighs some more, slipped his fingers in between his legs and teased gently at the soft space behind his balls until he was panting, then stroked his balls gently, the base of his cock again, until Tony was moaning. Only then did he smooth his hand up again, run it over Tony’s hot, rosy rump, a deep, deep scarlet now.

“This is gonna be harder,” Steve told him, reached for the strap on the bed. “It’s gonna hurt a little, okay?” He stroked down one of Tony’s legs, then the other, rubbing softly with his knuckles over his thighs.

“Okay,” Tony said, breathless and low, his hips still twitching a little, but otherwise lying there soft and obedient, arms still bound above his head, the fingers of one curling against the wrist, the cuff, of the other.

Steve swallowed, told himself that it was pointless to ask again, now that Tony was so deep he would agree to practically anything, and that Tony’s earlier consent was enough, he had to trust him, trust his word, and then got the strap up in his hand, took a deep breath.

The first hit made Tony cry out, stiffen and raise his head, then slump down again the blankets and the pillow at the second. He was panting, his head down so his hair was falling forward into his eyes, muscles tightening and his strong arms working as he cried out. Steve started slow, deliberate, first one side, then the other, over Tony’s lush backside, then down over his thighs, then up over his backside again. Tony panted, whimpered, breath going harsh in his throat until it sounded almost like sobs, but he didn’t move, didn’t even try to press his legs together, just lay there for it, sometimes even still rocking his rear back into it, even as his breath hitched and sobbed on every indrawn gulp of it. His rear got rapidly, deeply red, dark and rosy; his thighs took a little longer, and Tony’s fingers scrabbled and twisted at the blankets and his chest heaved and his breath sobbed in his throat, and finally he went limp and relaxed and moaned with every hard swat at his thighs, at his rear.

Steve was vividly aware of his own heart pounding in his ears, in his pulse in that hot, almost painful, pulse of desire that was his own cock. Just watching Tony there like that, panting, dragging in deep lungfuls of air, his rear a bright rosy red, his thighs hot and marked with welts from the strap, his rear also hot and welted and starting to swell, and Tony hard the whole time, every so often sobbing and pressing his hot, lovely rear end back for more of it. Eventually, Steve laid down one last, hard swat, the hardest yet, at the very lowest point on both Tony’s thighs he was willing to go, another against Tony’s sit spot, right at the sensitive spot his thighs met his rear, then tossed the strap aside, his heart, his desire, pounding hot and heavy in his ears. He picked up the strap, the floggers, and moved them to the nearby chair, laying the white doeskin one carefully on top, then turned back to the bed just as Tony was dazedly, clumsily pushing himself up on his arms and mumbling, “Steve?” He sounded anxious, a little breathless, not quite certain of where Steve was and if he would come back, and then Steve was there, lying down on the bed beside him, pulling Tony over on top of him, pushing the pillow out of the way and taking Tony’s face in both hands. Tony’s body was hot, sweaty, damp over his, through his clothes, warm and solid in Steve’s arms.

“Hey there, fella,” Steve said, and kissed him.

Tony gave a glad, sobbing, breathless little cry and pushed up into his arms, kissing him back, bound hands going up so that his fingers could twine into Steve’s hair as he arched up into the kiss, legs one leg splayed wide over Steve’s, as he panted against him. His mouth was sweet, soft, giving, open for Steve’s tongue, and Steve kissed him deeply, soft and slow and loving, his hand going to the back of Tony’s neck to support him, until he heard the way that Tony was gasping and moaning, felt how much he needed a breath in the heaving of his chest against him, and pulled away.

“Shh,” Steve said, stroking the back of Tony’s neck. “Shh, sweetheart. That was so good. You were so good.”

He was rewarded with Tony’s face, the way it lit up, transported with the praise, the way he bent his head, buried it in Steve’s shoulder, chest heaving.

“So good,” Steve murmured to him, still stroking his hair, all tangled and sweaty now and very, very curly under his hand, especially around the ends, at the nape of Tony’s neck. “You took that so good, Tony, so perfect.” He massaged the back of his neck gently. “You were beautiful, just beautiful.”

Tony let out a quiet little sob, trembling against Steve’s shoulder, his body gone all limp and soft.

“Shh,” Steve told him, his chest twinging with that soft, warm, tender ache again. He rubbed at Tony’s neck, nuzzled in against the side of his head, pressed a kiss to his ear, his temple. “Shh, you were. You were just perfect. Do you want to come, sweetheart?” He used his other hand, felt down Tony’s side, the front of his body, until he could close his hand gently around Tony’s cock. “You want to come, beautiful?” he asked, practically whispering now, lips feeling damp against Tony’s sweaty temple, smearing wet against his skin. 

“But Steve, honey,” Tony gasped, and lifted his head. “You, you haven’t. Can I. Can I make you, you come first? Please?”

His breath was wet, damp, his voice thick and scratchy, his face flushed, smeared with tears and spit and creased from pressing into the pillow, tangled wet curls soaked with sweat straggling limply into his eyes, over his forehead. His lips were swollen from biting, slick with spit and very wet, and his facial hair looked ruffled, wet from his spit, very dramatic against his wet, red, dripping lips.

Steve took a deep breath, felt a moment of indecision, but then remembered how seriously Tony took being able to make Steve come, being able to give him pleasure, and directly, with his hands or mouth or thighs or deep inside his body, how much it could upset him, especially when he was down, if Steve didn’t let him.

“Okay,” he said then, took Tony’s face in his hands again, kissed his hot, sweaty forehead. “Sure thing, mister.” He got an arm around Tony’s waist, careful of his hot shoulders and sore, welted backside, and used it to lift him up, just the slightest bit, with Tony’s help, bracing his arms on Steve’s shoulder and holding himself up, so he could ease his other hand down, undo his belt and push it to the side, undo his flies and tug his briefs down over his hips until his cock sprang free. God, it was wet, wet and leaking and he gave it a brief tug and moaned himself, threw his head back a moment, because God, God, that hot wet slide of friction after so long—

Tony gave a desperate, aching groan, though, and so Steve opened his eyes again, saw Tony looking at him pleadingly, licking his lips eagerly. Steve helped him work himself down, until Tony could brace himself with both arms and lower his mouth over the tip of Steve’s cock.

God, it felt incredible. Tony’s mouth was always incredible, so hot and wet and perfect, and he knew just how to suck, just how to use his tongue, and—this time around it was hot and wet and messy and sloppy, Tony was clearly all over the place, just suckling wet and sloppy and hot at his tip, sucking and wet, then bobbing his mouth down over him, down and down until Steve was in his throat and he was swallowing and choking wetly, and Steve almost pulled him off despite the brilliant, unbelievable wet pleasure, before Tony swallowed again and the choking eased off and there was just the tight, soft, velvet clench of his throat, dragging along him before he pulled back again and mouthed all sloppy and wet at his tip, sucking on it like it was a popsicle, dragging his head back and forth, thrusting it in and out of his own mouth like there was a prize for most determined cocksucker on offer and Tony was goddamn determined to get it, before he went down on him again.

Steve gasped, writhed, losing himself in the white hot pleasure, tossing his head back, and his hands slid down, gripped at Tony’s hot sensitive shoulders, only half on purpose, and Tony cried out softly, wetly, a broken little hot needy cry, panting around Steve’s cock, and Steve did it again, barely noticing the way Tony rubbed his cock against the bed between Steve’s legs as he did, but still somehow logging it in the back of his brain, and then Tony was sinking down on him again and he couldn’t think at all, just enough to slide his hands back up and tangle them in Tony’s hair, holding his head, feeling his muscles flex with the effort of will it took not to just yank Tony down on his cock and thrust up into his sweet, perfect throat.

It didn’t take long at all for Steve to come, and Tony let him ride it out in his mouth, sucking at him and playing at him just perfect with his tongue, until the pleasure built and built, turning soft, then bright and bladed, on the edge of pain, and into hot, throbbing, over-sensitized pain itself, and Steve found himself pushing Tony gently away.

Tony opened his mouth, let Steve’s cock slide wetly from between them and flop back to lie wet and making a damp spot against the thigh of his slacks, then laid his head down on Steve’s thigh, gasping. Steve sighed, leaned back against the headboard, and stroked Tony’s hair with one hand, just enjoying the soft thickness of it, even wet and heavy with sweat as it was. “That was incredible,” he finally breathed. “You’re so good, Tony. Such a sweet, perfect mouth. You’re always so good.”

Tony made a soft, pleased sort of groan, and turned his face in toward in the inside of Steve’s thigh, his mouth dragging wet and open along the fabric as he did.

“So, so good,” Steve promised him, still petting his hair, and saw Tony’s lips quirk up into a tiny, pleased smile. “That’s it,” Steve told him. “Good boy. So good for me. Taking that so perfect. Sucking me off so damn nice.” He reached down between Tony’s legs as he spoke, hitched one up and out to the side, exposing him just enough to give Steve a dramatic view of Tony’s still very hard cock, hard and red and wet and needy, then used his arm around Tony’s thigh, above his knee, and another around his waist, to hoist him up, drag him back into Steve’s arms, back to his front.

Tony moaned, gasping, twisted in his arms, probably couldn’t help it as his sore rear and thighs, his sensitive shoulders, were brought in against Steve, as he was manhandled into putting pressure on them, but then Steve slid down, lay back, until he was curled over and around Tony who was mostly lying there on him, supported by his hips.

“Okay?” he murmured, kissing Tony’s temple again, his forehead.

And after a moment, Tony said, breathlessly, “Okay,” sounding a little surprised.

“Good,” Steve told him, and then reached down, curled his hand around Tony’s cock. It always fit so perfect in his hand, hot and jerking, smoother than his own, and he rubbed at it, gentle, slow, rubbing his thumb around the tip in circles, around the edge of it, just the way Tony liked, until he gasped and came with a soft, low, broken little cry and fell back against him.

Steve jerked him off a little longer, working him through it just the way Tony had done for him, feeling Tony’s head loll against his shoulder as he gasped out his pleasure. When Steve looked at him, his eyes were closed, his face twisted up as he shivered, panting, his stomach heaving, as he twisted his body as if he wanted to press himself in against Steve, curl up against him.

Steve got his hand up, started stroking through Tony’s hair again. “You were so good,” he murmured again, just to see Tony’s trembling little smile, the way he pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder, against his neck, and blew out soft, trembling breaths. That was the best part of doing this, the way Tony would go so soft and liquid afterwards, all open, permissive warmth, curl up against Steve and—and show Steve that sweet vulnerable side of him Steve knew was in there, that he tried so hard to keep contained, show Steve the deepest part of him, the part of Tony that maybe loved Steve most of all, or at the very least, was the most eager, the most willing, to show it, all affection and sweetness and devotion and so much of it Steve felt like he’d never even be able to process it all, like a starving man sat down at a great feast, a poor man offered all of Tony’s own vast fortune, and more. Steve rubbed his hand at the back of Tony’s neck, massaging gently, rolling Tony mostly over on top of him, looking down at the shoulders and rear he’d turned so hot and, well, a little bruised, definitely, at least, that backside, but Tony liked that, didn’t he? He asked Steve for it so much, and—

Well, Steve would take care of him now. That was his job. That was the best part. The best part of all. “So good, sweetheart,” he murmured to Tony again, as he got him lying down in the bed, stripped off his own clothes, grabbed a spare blanket he’d set out earlier and a bottle of water, and then got back down beside him, shaking the blanket out over them, uncapping the water and holding Tony’s head up to help him drink, which he did, bleary-eyed and obedient, clearly soft and sleepy with the space Steve had put him in, until Steve took it away and recapped it, setting it on the nightstand, stroking Tony’s throat with his thumb. “Not too much?” he asked, hoping for a little more—reassurance, he guessed, to settle the alarm that turned over and over in his stomach now, the uncertainty, that that had been too much, that he’d really hurt Tony when all he’d wanted to do was make him feel good, send him flying high the way he always did for Steve. He reached down, unbuckled the cuffs, massaging Tony’s wrists as he set them aside. 

“No, it was so good,” Tony said, all in one breath, practically, looking up at Steve’s face, his forehead creasing earnestly. He was already reaching for Steve, wrapping an arm around his side, sliding the other up over his chest, rocking forward into him until Steve could feel the humid warmth of Tony’s cock and groin pressed up against his thigh. “So, so good, sugar plum. So good.”

“Okay,” Steve said, feeling his face break out into a smile, brushing Tony’s hair back off his forehead again. “Okay, it was good.”

It was good. It was good. He felt a little knot of tension in his belly relax, sighed and let his muscles go loose, finally let himself just feel good, just relax. That was just perfect, then. It had been good.

“C’mere, mister,” he said, and pulled Tony a little closer, on top of him, between his legs. “We’re due some cuddling time, I think.”

Tony made a happy, contented sort of humming noise, and let Steve pull his head down to his shoulder, slide his arm around his waist. Steve stroked his hair, pulled up the blanket to get a good look at one of Tony’s thighs, his round red buttock, running his hand gently over it, making Tony pant and writhe and grin up at him, teased his hand up under the blanket over Tony’s shoulders, caressing them, making Tony gasp, teasing him even as Steve smiled down at him, called him beautiful, again and again and again, praised him for how well he did until Tony was pressing his face into his shoulder again, smiling as Steve teased at his hot, sensitive skin and kissed his forehead and called him beautiful because he was, he always was.


End file.
